


The Wolf and her Guard

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle Scenes, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 8 rewritten some, Slow Romance, Some abuse at times because of stupid Joffrey and Ramsey, Starts pre-season 1, but am working on making longer ones of good quality, shortish chapters for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Riley Murray had one purpose: to protect Lady Sansa Stark. Raised from birth to be a warrior, join him and the other members of Game of Thrones as they play the game. Who will live and who will die?
Relationships: Undisclosed Relationship(s), original character/sansa stark





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first story to be posted on Archive of Our Own. I have mostly been writing and posting stories on FanFiction.Net, but I wanted to try to see how this goes.

**Prologue**

The Men of the Mountain. Highlanders. Many a legend exists about them among the Northerners, so distinct a group to stand out among the numerous mountain clans of the North. Some say that they are eight-foot tall demons in human form, with human skulls used for goblets, and scalps for napkins. Some that they are Wildlings who had managed to get through the Wall. Others report that they dress using some sort of a patterned, knee-length skirt, and wield large and deadly two-handed swords, or a broadsword, a long thrusting dagger, and a small, round shield. They would eat stuffed sheep stomachs in the winter, and their music was a device called a bagpipe.

However, only a select few know the full truth of the men and women who are all human members of what they refer to as a clan, the lord of House Stark being one of them. For centuries, they had been the secret bannerman for the Warden of the North, a group ready to be mobilized. An event that had rarely occurred. However, it was more often for a few select individuals, either as adults or as children, to be the select personal bodyguards for the daughters of the Warden.

That was the very reason for why Lord Eddard Stark had traveled all the way to the base of the mountain these proud people call their own. Six years previously, his first daughter, Sansa Stark had been born. The days afterwards had seen the Warden of the North travel with only a few select guards to meet with the chieftain of these hardy folk, where the traditional meeting for the obtaining of the bodyguard.

The chieftain had insisted that they wait six years that day in order to begin the training of a group of youth to be raised in the old ways of the mountain, and to be taught their fighting style. Eddard had agreed to this because he was one of the few to know just how capable a true clansman can be in a one-on-one fight. So, the Lord of Winterfell had waited six years, and last week, he had finally received a simple message from a raven. _He is ready_ , the message said.

The high chieftain waits for them, a kilt present and the two-handed Valyrian steel sword passed down to each leader of the Men of the Mountain. He bows his head deeply once the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell halts his horse a few feet in front of him. “Welcome, Lord Stark. The boy is ready to be presented,” he says in a thickly-accented voice.

Eddard Stark turns to Jory, his loyal captain of the guard, and the two men accompanying them. “Stay here. I will be back shortly,” Eddard says in a tone that clearly indicates to his men to obey and not protest. With disagreement clearly written on their face, his loyal men do not utter their thoughts aloud as they dismount and allow their horses to rest. Eddard turns back to the man in front of him. “Lead on, Moray.”

It is a silent trek up the mountain to the cave entrance that is inside. Over thousands of years, generations of clansmen and women had labored hard to carve out the inside of the mountain to make their own castle of sort, and a most impressive one it had become. While there were no towers or true battlements like in Winterfell, Casterly Rock, or King’s Landing, there is a simple, rough-cut wall hewn from solid stone, with a thick oaken gate, with slits carved into the rock to serve as murder holes for a handful of archers in the rare event that Deep-Mountain Hold should ever be attacked.

Chief Moray pauses, and Eddard Stark does the same. “Wait,” the elderly warrior grunts before speaking up in the unique language that only those in the mountain domain would know. The plain wooden gates swing opens a quarter of the way, and a new figure steps through the gap. “Your daughter’s protector. Riley Murray, of my own clan. May he serve your house well, Lord Stark.”

Eddard nods his thanks while examining the boy. For a six-year-old boy, he is rather tall. His reddish-brown hair had been cut recently, and he has a decent amount of muscle tone in his body. He wears a plain set of clothes, though over it is a large stretch of colored tartan fabric. He also notes the fact that the youth in front of him already has weapons: a long thrusting dagger known as a dirk, and his left hand holds a small round shield. The latter is covered with a layer of tanned deerskin, an intricate spiral patter drawn, while the former could be used as a short sword of sorts, at least until he finishes growing. Eddard makes a note to himself to start getting the smith to make a custom-fitted arming sword, for only the best would be given to safeguard his daughter. “He will do well. I thank you once more, Moray. I trust that the guard for my other daughter is being trained as well?”

The elderly warrior bows his head once more. “Aye. He is coming along well. We will meet again in two years to this day,” he says before turning to the youth. “Remember, young Riley, the words of your clan, and may you bring honor and glory to yourself and us,” He says in a solemn tone. “Firth fortune, and fill the fetters.” In response, the youth, soon to be a warrior, acknowledges the blessing/command, and steps forward, kneeling before the father of his new lady whom he will fight and die for.

“My sword and shield and dirk are at your disposal, Lord Stark,” Riley says to the Warden of the North. Ned Stark offers a hand, instructing the youth to follow him, and that he shall ride his horse.

**Winterfell…**

The small party has returned. Catelyn Stark had gathered her eldest daughter, having left her two youngest children in the care of Septa Mordane, and was waiting in the keep of the mighty northern castle of Winterfell for her husband and his men to return. Upon seeing the smaller rider sharing his horse, the former member of House Tully appraises, while also thankful that Jon was not present. Her husband’s shame was a constant source of anger and distrust for her, no matter what Ned would say to her.

“Who is he?” The question is asked by a pretty young redheaded girl roughly the same age as he. Riley looks up at the fur-covered man he rides with, nodding his head in an unspoken question. Ned looks down and nods his own head.

“Aye, lad,” He says quietly, before turning to the assembled family members of House Stark. “This is Riley. He will be staying here. He is your bodyguard for life, Sansa.” His daughter wrinkles her nose slightly, showing a faint sign of distaste on her fine features. Already has she become enamored with stories of shining knights and charming princess in the south. So, the fact that her bodyguard, which she had been told about was not such a man, but a northerner wearing seemingly outlandish clothes. However, even at such a young age she is quickly becoming a true lady, and so says nothing.

Riley does take notice, however, and barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes at her. _‘Oh, this is going to be a breeze,’_ he scoffs as he settles to instead let out a quiet puff of air. He is however, startled, by a light tap from behind as the horses pause near the center.

“Apologies for my daughter. I fear she may have her head in the clouds in some matters. Regardless, I trust you will do your duty?” Ned Stark asks, wanting to ensure that his somewhat negative meeting does not prove to be a hindrance.

“Nay milord. My duty is my honor, and I shall not break either.”

“Good. Tomorrow, we will have you give a proper demonstration of just what you are already capable of. Tonight, however, you shall dine with my family. Welcome to Winterfell, Riley Murray, protector of the lady Sansa Stark.”


	2. The New Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley swears his oath as a bodyguard, while we get to see a bit of Sansa's perspective

**Riley**

Ever since arriving at Winterfell, Riley has been fighting down the urge to keep his posture in a tense, ready to attack mode. The customs and traditions of these semi-southerners are confounding to the simple mountain warrior. While the style of clothing was not unlike those of his clan, they lack the usefulness of his kilt in some ways. However, they look down on him for wearing this source of pride. He might be young, but his family had raised him to be prepared for how the other men and women of the North would react to him, with fear and pity.

Only Lord Stark and a handful of others, and the bastard known as Jon Snow, who had arrived only recently but would not be attending the dinner gathering, seemed to have shown him respect of any sort. The bastard is someone to seek out later, the youth decides as he silently enters the castle on foot. When one is outcasted, his trainer had told him, look for friends among the other outcasts.

Speaking of such issues, it seems that he will not be having an easy relationship with the lady he is to protect anytime soon. He saw the glint of distaste the moment her father had told Sansa about why there was a new guard. This suspicion was further reinforced upon entering the main hall of the keep, where Lord Stark had attempted to offer an apology for his daughter, explaining how she had become enamored with tales from the south. However, she would accept the traditional sworn shield oath at the start of dinner. It seemed that the Starks wanted to make it a celebration for some reason.

Riley, though feeling it might be a bit excessive, said nothing. After all, he was there to protect, not advise on the running of a castle. Already though, the pangs of being homesick have sunken in deeply. The steward of Winterfell, a man named Vayon Poole, leads the youth to his quarters, located near the rooms of the various Starks, for the sole reason of being able to quickly attend to his mistress in the event of invasion. After giving him a quick thanks, and after being told that in a few hours he would be summoned to the main hall for the feast, the steward departs, leaving Riley alone in his new quarters.

The room is very sparse, not that it really bothers him. After all, his entire life had been focused on training him in the art of fighting. He would spend nights with only his kilt and a thin blanket for protection from the elements, so simply having a fireplace and a warm, soft feather bed would be priceless. He places his targe but leaves his sheathed dirk at his belt before laying back down on the bed to rest.

**Sansa**

“I expected more, mother.”

These are the first words that Sansa utters to her mother upon entering her private chambers. She ignores the resigned look in her mother’s eyes as she plunges forward. Surely, this must be a badly planned joke for her, to keep her bemused or off-guard while her real guard was traveling up from the southern lands.

For months, she had dreamed of what her knight would look like. He must be tall and handsome, astride a beautiful white horse as sunlight reflects off of his gilded armor as a silver cloak fluttered behind him in the wind. Not a…a _boy_! He looked to be no older than she was. How could that possibly mean he would be her protector?!?

Her mother merely sighs in response. “Oh Sansa, I know he doesn’t look like what you would hope, nor will he probably have the mannerisms, but at the end of the day, isn’t it better to be safe and protected?” Sansa bites her lower lip subtly as she thinks on what her mother had just said. Looking back up at her, Sansa gives a slight, though rather reluctant nod of her head.

“Besides, child, you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What do you mean, mother?” Sansa notices her mother’s slight smile that is shown on the corners of her mouth, further adding to her momentary confusion, which thankfully is resolved shortly.

“You can always get him to be more like one of those southern knights you always wanted. Your father will probably knight him in the next few years. After all, it would not do for a daughter of House Stark to be protected by a mercenary bodyguard, as the other houses would accuse,” she says to Sansa.

Sansa’s face briefly pinches up in concentration as this possibility sinks in. Yes, he certainly fell way beneath the standards she felt he should have, but surely those could be dealt with and that standard brought back up to the proper level for being the protector of a maiden. “Are you sure Father will knight him? It’s not exactly a Northern tradition,” she asks hesitantly, to which her mother gives a sly smile.

“Oh, leave that to me, dear. Now, come over here. I need to get you ready for dinner tonight. Our guest will be giving his oath, and we need to make sure you know the exact words you will have to respond to this.”

**Riley**

The feast, thankfully, was not too lavish, and honestly reminded the young warrior of home. Some well-seasoned chicken, cordial or water, and other simple yet delicious food items. The people who are in attendance are also rather small, mainly being the entire Stark family, minus apparently someone he has heard as being referred to as Eddard’s Bastard, and key retainers, such as Poole, a warrior named Ser Rodrik Cassel, the aging maester of Winterfell named Luwin, and a few others.

It was also a short and quiet affair, as Lord Stark mainly just introduced him to the key figures who helped run Winterfell. Ince the tables have been cleared and cleaned, Lord Stark clears his throat and stands.

“We all know by now why I have called for this feast of sorts. As has been an on-and-off tradition for the ladies of House Stark, my eldest Daughter Sansa has come of the age where one of the hardy mountain-folks have sent our young guest, Riley of Clan Murray, to become her sworn sword,” He says before pausing, gauging the reactions of the room. Not seeing any obvious sign of disagreement Lord Stark continues speaking.

“Well, if no one opposes this, we shall begin. Your teachers taught you the words you must speak?” The nobleman asks Riley.

“Aye, Mi Lord,” He says quietly while standing up, Sansa doing the same thing just seconds later after having exchanged looks with her mother. Riley coolly walks over to stand in front of her, trying his best to maintain a calm appearance despite the fact that he is about to completely sign away his life to someone else, especially someone else who he has already seen shown some measure of disdain to him.

However, this was what he had been brought up for, and so honor that duty he shall.

Kneeling before the redhead, Riley recites the words he had been taught every day for the past two years. “I will shield your back and give my life for yours if it comes to that. I swear it by the old gods and the new,” the youth says in a monotone, his accent well-hidden after several years of being taught how to speak like a ‘proper’ Northerner. There is a pregnant pause in the room, where Sansa looks at her father as if to ask if she has to accept this. Finally, she sighs and speaks up.

“And I swear that I shall ask no service of you which shall bring you dishonor. You shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

A low and formal set of applauses by the castle staff can be heard as the newest member of House Stark’s staff slowly rises to his feet. However, no one acknowledges the cool stares exchanged by master and servant, though a number surely have noticed.

A pact had been forged, yes, but now came the time for work to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> So several things I would like to mention. The first is that, yes, the Men in the Mountain/Highlanders are loosely based on Scotland, since GoT draws a lot of inspiration it seems from Medieval England. Clan Murray is named after the historic clan, of which my family and I are some of the decendants from it. I may probably go back and change the name of them if I can figure out a better one because mountain tribes would feel to close to the ones from A Song of Ice and Fire. There is also going to be a sequel, which I will explain more after I finish uploading the next few chapters that have already been finished. Hope you all enjoy


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